


Fit in with the Misfits

by Shenanigans



Series: Fit in with the Misfits [1]
Category: DCU, Teen Titans
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, Gen, M/M, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-30
Updated: 2013-04-02
Packaged: 2017-12-07 00:17:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/741874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shenanigans/pseuds/Shenanigans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim Drake is the new kid at Smallville High. Fitting in shouldn't be this hard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim meets Bart. It goes faster than he expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am mostly writing this as a way to get back into fanfiction, so warning TROPES AHOY. Because tropes are fun. I apologize for any and all typos, those're totally mine. This is unbeta-ed and just off the cuff. I'm posting all my ideas, gifset inspirations, and updates to [Fit in with the Misfits Tumblr](http://fitinwiththemisfits.tumblr.com), so if you get bored, you can always swing through. Much love to my beleaguered friends for putting up with me flailing over boys who don't actually exist and girls who are too cool to be real. Any and all feedback is appreciated. Thank you!

The administration office at Smallville High was exactly what it advertised itself to be. There was a counter with a portly dark haired woman looking over the rims of her readers as she typed slowly on what was obviously a brick of a computer. Tim Drake stood quietly on the other side, eyes glancing around, taking in the fading motivational posters encouraging the merits of education before flickering over the filing cabinet that was labelled in neat blocky handwriting alphabetically. He cleared his throat, shifting his weight slightly and tipping forward at the waist to see if the schedule they’d assigned him was sitting on the other side of the desk. The principal’s office door was closed, the blinds drawn and the entire thing was so incredibly pastoral that it settled over his tongue like sour milk. Tim was used to the city. He was used to the impersonal attitude and metal detectors. He was used to being just another face in the crowd of teenagers that pushed and struggled from over crowded class to overcrowded class. The woman glanced up, smiling on autopilot and blinked at Tim where he stood, as if she’d forgotten the question before startling obviously and pushing her chair back with a squeak of wheels. “Sorry, here.” The schedule smacked against the counter top with a rattle of paper. “Bartholomew will be along shortly to show you around.”

Tim looked at the paper, printed on dot matrix. Did people even still use dot matrix? He coughed, quirking a slight eyebrow before glancing over the class schedule. He nodded once, AP classes across the board. He wasn’t sure what to picture from the name the woman had given him, but his mind tried to helpfully supply a pudgy kid with thick bushy eyebrows over red cheeks and acne. He shoved it away, trying not to be prejudicial and turned when a tall rangy kid with wild floppy red hair poked his head in the door. He had a bright smile, pale brown eyes that almost looked golden in the slanted sunlight streaming through the windows and bouncing ridiculously off the open spaces. Tim tilted his head as the kid slipped in, waving loosely at the secretary and turned on him. He leaned back as the kid leaned forward, almost taking a step back when he invaded his space. The redhead was built like he’d lose five pounds if he sneezed and didn’t seem capable of being still. Tim went completely still in response, eyes tracking the boy as he was circled.

“Bartholomew!” The woman smiled broadly, large arm shaking a bit as she waved between them. Tim quirked an eyebrow.

“Miss Secretary Hot Pants.” The boy grinned again, flopping over the counter to waggle his fingers at the older woman before kicking his overlarge feet and settling back,

“What have I sa-“

“Keep calling me Bartholomew and I’ll keep calling you Miss Secretary Hot Pants,” Bart answered, talking over the woman with a rapid fire pace that Tim recognized immediately. He startled back incrementally when Bart hopped down from the counter and grabbed his arm. “C’mon. I get to be your tour guide and that’s cool ‘cause I get out of class, but we don’t have much time until class starts and I don’t want to miss out on the lecture in my History class because I am flops at History. Crash bang at physics, but damn, I hate-“

“Language, Bartholomew!” The woman called, voice fading as the door creaked closed.  
Bart grinned at Tim, turning to walk backwards and watch. “You’re the new kid. We don’t get new kids. Well, not technically true. I was a new kid once, but that was back when I was like nine, so it doesn’t count anymore. Did you move here? What do you do? Do you play spo-“

“Bart, did you take your Adderall today?” A teacher asked, glancing over at them where they walked before turning to push into the teacher’s lounge.

“Yes! Totally took that. Definitely!” Bart called, waving a skinny arm over his head before turning back to Tim conspiratorially “Totally didn’t, but whatever. It makes time crawl. I hate that. I just want to think at the pace that I think at and not have to worry about people thinking I’m talking too fast. I mean, I don’t talk too fast, people just move really damn slow all the time. Don’t you think?”

“Am I allowed to answer that?” Tim asked mildly, trying to keep track of the numbers on the doors since the tour itself seemed to be mostly Bart walking backwards.

“Duh.” Bart tilted his head, pointing at the doors labelled men and women. “Bathrooms.” He swung his arm to point down the hall at the cross section. “Lunchroom. Gym. Science wing.” He spun back around. “I do track. What do you do? Are you a sports kid? You don’t look like a sports kid. You’re kinda runty. Not that it’s a bad thing. I’m a string bean.”

“I like Jeet Kun Do,” Tim said, wetting his lips and staring down the hallway. “I’m not a big sports person.”

“What, like Bruce Lee? That’s pretty fucking cool.” Bart bounced. “Okay, tour’s over. Good luck!” Bart gave him a push towards the science wing and slipped a little on the tile before sprinting down the hall in a flail of limbs that smoothed out into something surprisingly liquid. The hall was empty and Tim looked around, centering himself before closing his eyes.

“Yeah, like Bruce Lee.” He wet his lips, shifting his bag higher on his shoulders and started exploring. He’d have this place memorized before lunch. Tim Drake, Gothamite and introvert. He could do this. The bell rang and he went quiet, watching the doors open and the students start to stream out into the hallway, battering against him and pulled his arms over his chest tighter, watching who paired off with who before slipping silently through the bodies to find his Chemistry class.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim meets Steph Brown.

At least the chemistry room seemed the same. There were long black tables with the gas spouts mounted in the top. The periodic table on the wall gave Tim a point of reference and in the back the stacked lab spaces and cabinets full of chemicals was reassuring. He paused at the back of the room, eyes narrowed as he tried to figure out where he would sit, finally deciding on the second table from the back that was currently empty, the others filling with pairs of kids. The teacher at the front of the class was a simply dressed salt and pepper haired man with thick glasses and goggles hanging around his neck. The other kids seemed to be a riot of different colored flannel and brightly colored cotton t-shirts. The girls were all varying shades of bottle blond with one black haired girl tucked quietly next to the wall with her nose in a book. Towards the front the tables were filled, leave it to a small town to make the back of the classroom where the awkward kids sat while the bright toothpaste commercial smiles and impossibly broad shouldered boys sat near the front. Tim had a moment to wonder if the size was due to some sort of genetic therapy before remembering that most of Smallville's farms were strictly organic. He sighed, sitting on the empty stool and relegating himself once again into acceptance over his smaller size. He slipped his bag off his shoulders, bending over as the bell rang again to unzip.  
There was a bluster of noise at the door, the quick patter of sneakers on tile and the heavy sound of someone skidding into the seat next to him, followed by the subtle scent of floral deodorant and strawberry shampoo. Tim straightened, turning to the direct gaze of the round face freckled blonde who had her chin propped up on her hand, chewing her gum idly and staring at him. "Hiya."

"Um, hello." Tim moved the heavy chemistry book and his spiral bound notebook onto the table in front of him, lining the edges neatly before setting the mechanical pencil at a perfect right angle to the top and settled his fingertips on the cover.

"This is where you introduce yourself," the girl said, leaning over to stage whisper at Tim and bump him with her shoulder. Tim had always been of the opinion that certain shades of purple were not fit to be worn in public, and yet this girl had layered a lavender tank top with an eggplant colored sweat top with a dark indigo bra under all of that. She was average sized with a slight farmer tan that was clustered with cinnamon colored freckles over the backs of her wrists, the tops of her shoulders, and the bridge of her nose. He had a moment to wonder idly if they were along her collarbones too before he shook his head. He blinked, flushing darkly and tore his eyes up from the strap that was peaking out on freckled shoulders to hold her gaze in the steady fashion perfected by teenage boys over the years when confronted with a pretty girl with a great rack. She was waiting, blue eyes that strange cornflower color that he'd only seen in magazines.

Tim had a moment of helpless internal flailing that this wasn't much better. "What?"

The girl tilted her head at him, patting him gently on the shoulder the way a Grandmother would pat a particularly slow grandchild. "Let's try this again? Yeah?" She held out her hand. "Steph. Steph Brown." She grinned, nose wrinkling adorably as she grabbed his hand and shook once before tugging him closer with a surprisingly strong grip. "Spoilers. We're going to be friends. Deal with it, new kid."

"Tim," he corrected, smiling quick and bland before pulling his hand back and narrowing his eyes at her for a moment. "You're not one of those popular girls who lures the geeky new kid into some sort of false sense of security that gets his ass kicked when their jock boyfriend takes offense, right?"

Steph laughed, loud and brassy, shaking her head with a delightful fall of honey blond hair and tossed him a look. "Oh, I'm keeping you."

"That... um, that doesn't really answer the question." Tim swallowed, looking around like he was sizing up the potential threat of each corn fed boy in the classroom.

The girl- Steph- folded her arms over the tie dyed backpack and turned her head to watch him. "Please, I've known these guys since they were licking each other in kindergarten because they liked the taste of paste." She rolled her eyes. "Nothing says hello I would like to smoosh my face with your face quite like remembering them crying when you stole their GI Joes." She grinned, poking him in the arm. "You want to smoosh faces, Tim-the-new-kid?"

"Uh." Tim felt himself go impossibly red, turning his face back to the front where the teacher had started writing on the board with a scratch of chalk.

To his left, Stephanie laughed and buried her face against the backs of her arms before pulling out her notebook and settling in to take notes. "Teasing, new kid. Don't worry."

Tim exhaled, rubbing his face and slanting her a slightly bemused smile, small and quiet. "Okay."

Steph tapped her pencil against his notes, eyes crinkling at the corners. "That's totally Cassie, anyway. In every cheerleading squad there's the popular one, the nice one, and the quiet one. I'm the nice one."

"I'm going to die, aren't I?" Tim whispered, keeping track of the balancing of chemical equations easily. They'd studied this last year.

Steph nodded solemnly, her own notes a scrawl of doodles and looping handwriting. "Most likely."

"Good to know."

"I'm here to help, Timbo."

There was a long pause where Tim completely forgot to keep track of the teacher's voice, just turning to stare at her profile in disbelief. "Um. Please don't ever call me that again."

Steph snickered, moueing her mouth and nodding in understanding. "Got it, Timmy."

"I should just take my losses on this, shouldn't I?"

"See, I knew you were quick. You have that look." Tim ducked his head, going back to his notes and smiling quietly.

I think you might just be right," he whispered, pitching his voice quiet to carry between them as the teacher spoke. "I think we are going to be friends."

Steph smiled back, blatant and uncaring of the way she just commanded attention. "Yes, good. Sit with me at lunch."

The classroom quieted down, moving into the slow lull of chemistry with the bored patience of the half asleep. Tim made sure to only raise his hand once and only answer questions when asked directly. Somehow, he still got a black glare from a blond boy near the front and ducked his head. At least some things never changed. He'd have to be more careful here than he had at Gotham High 2325.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conner is a jock, but he does know where the library is. Maybe.

The lunchroom was always the most crowded space in the school for two hours. The two shifts would meet up at the half hour point with a wild raise in volume, plastic trays clattering against the metal rails and kids screaming hellos across the space. The room had a wall of windows that overlooked the ever scenic lawn that butted up to the parking lot for seniors. The teachers stood along the wall, taking turns in pairs to keep an eye on the flock of all four grades before tapping out to sneak off into the teacher's lounge. The tables were mismatched sets of rectangles with circular ends that ranged through the space with the actual cafeteria portion notched off the side and manned by women who doubled as bus drivers. Conner moved along the line, nodding and smiling at Bess when she silently offered him a double portion of fries. She rolled her eyes when he dimpled and frowned at Bart's hand as he started loading his tray up with pieces of cake on styrofoam plates, smacking it when he started for a fourth and pointing at the actual food.

Bart did his best impression of a three year old throwing a temper tantrum, heels drumming in a fit of pique before he just threw his arms out and flopped face first into Conner's arm. Conner sighed, palming his hair and pushing him back upright, holding his weight against his palm. "Dude. That's pathetic."

"Cake!" Bart replied, pouting spectacularly before pointing at his open mouth. "It goes in here. In my *face*."

Conner tossed Bess a look before reaching to pull a slice onto his own tray, watching Bart perk up visibly and beam at him from the corner of his eye. "You have the metabolism of a gerbil on crack."

"Do gerbils do crack?"

"It's a saying, Bart."

"Whatever, I can't help it. I'll die if I don't eat all the cake. It's a thing. Cake, Conner. Cake." He nodded seriously, golden brown eyes solemn as his hair flopped into his face and he reached surreptitiously to steal the cake from the tray and set on his own. "I'll get like two cheeseburgers too. Maybe some salad. Oh! Pizza!" He scrambled out of line, ducking cheekily between a pair of the dance squad and wriggled in place despite the deadpan looks the girls tossed him. Conner huffed a laugh, scooting along the rails and snagging a plain cheeseburger for himself, a side of vegetables, and some mac and cheese.

"You're going to eat all of that smooshed between a bun aren't you?" Cassie asked from his elbow, shaking her head at him and glancing between his tray and his face before dimpling sweetly. Conner immediately tensed.

"What'd I do wrong?"

"Nothing. Why? Did you do something wrong?" Cassie asked, eyes narrowing as she lifted her tray, light with just a salad and chicken fingers. "Fuck, Conner. What did you do?"

"Nothing. I didn't do *anything*!" He smiled, crooked and bright, holding up both hands in his own defense before dropping to grab the tray and balance it on his palm as he followed her. "You just gave me the you're in trouble smile."

"I don't have a you're in trouble smile, Conner." Cassie threw him a scandalized look that somehow made her prettier. She was tall and slim with the careful curves that had blossomed somewhere between eighth grade and high school. She'd gotten her braces off at about the same time and Conner had a moment he remembered very vividly when he realized his best childhood friend had boobs. There really wasn't another word for them. Tits seemed too small and breasts were just never going to be the same after he'd slaughtered his first chicken on the farm. Grandma's had bosoms and Conner blinked once, realizing he'd been staring at her boobs again and pulling his face up to smile at her. Cassie was classically pretty with a heart shaped face and high cheekbones. She'd gone from having white blonde hair in their youth to the softer golden tones that always seemed to glow in the sun with soft waves that casually framed her face. She tilted her head at him, arching a delicately plucked eyebrow. "Steph picked up a stray."

"Huh?"

"Conner, wow, are you even listening to me right now?" Cassie turned, handing the lunch lady her punch card and picking up her tray after tossing the woman a pretty smile of thanks. "Bart was talking about the new kid all through geometry. Steph had AP Chem with him and said she's dragging him to lunch. She was all sorts of interested in the hall, but she was also getting shooed to AP History by Mr Viall so we didn't get to trade much information."

"There's a new kid?" Conner blinked, mouth turning down in thought before following after Cassie absently. The group always sat at the same table and the other kids naturally parted out of his way, mostly because he was so large it was hard to stop and had accidentally knocked down his fair share.

"Yeah! Tim Drake! He's super smart, like Chem Nerd smart. I showed him around this morning because Miss Secretary Hot Pants thinks I'm an AV kid, but I don't have the heart to tell her that just because I set up her grandson's Xbox doesn't mean I'm in the AV club. But-" Bart paused to take a breath, catching up to them easily and keeping a careful eye on the food piled precariously on his tray. Conner reached over to still the apple where it wobbled and kept pace. "He's from Gotham. Same grade as us, but he's taking Junior level classes, but I overheard the principal saying that they might have to skip him forward a grade, which you know they said they would do with me but I'm behind developmentally or some shit," Bart snorted, setting the tray down and batting Conner's hand away to pick up the apple and toss it from hand to hand as he tilted back onto two legs in the chair. "Because I am not slow, the opposite of slow and I made friends so that whole he's not applying himself to social activities bullshit is wrong. I just like video games, okay? And to run. I won the medal for cross country, you think they'd be stoked instea-"

"Breathe Bart," Conner said, pulling his chair out and tossing an amused look at Cassie where she'd flipped out her phone and was texting with a speed that sort of scared him. "So, he's smart. You're smart. Everyone's smart."

"Except you, C student." Cassie muttered, teasing him with a sly look.

"I have things to do, man." Conner rubbed his face, glancing around before starting to scoop the mac and cheese onto the burger. "Chores."

"Just don't let them drop any lower or they won't let you play football anymore and then we're screwed." Bart and Cassie nodded in time like the saying was rote.

"Is Conner failing tests again?"

"No!"

"Maybe," Cassie and Bart replied at the same time. Cassie leaned over, pulling out a seat for the third girl in the trio and Cissie sat down carefully, arching an eyebrow at Conner from behind her wire rimmed glasses.

"Okay, maybe," Conner muttered, making a face at his food before squishing his mac and cheeseburger between the buns and taking a bite.

Cassie, Cissie, and Steph had met and made the infamous pact of chick friends forever somewhere in Kindergarten, possibly in utero as far as Conner was concerned. They'd banded together to chase Conner around the playground until Conner had made it to second grade and gotten into a fight with the new kid. The boy had been gap toothed and wild haired and Conner had made the mistake of calling him carrot top. One black eye, a few elbows of road rash, and a kicked shin later they'd pulled Bart and Conner apart by the nape of the neck. The boys had been best friends ever since.

"You should get a tutor," Cissie said simply, reaching over to steal the tomatoes off of Cassies salad and swap them out with the cut cucumbers from her own.

"I'll get right on that," Conner didn't even bother covering his mouth when he spoke anymore, rolling his eyes at the girls as they leaned against each other and started comparing texts from their strange network of informants. The school wasn't that big, Conner didn't understand why they had a network when you could usually just sit in one spot on the edge of Main St in town and see everyone who lived in Smallville in the space of an afternoon. He settled into eating, tuning in and out of the conversations going on around him.

There was a silence and Conner blinked, looking up from where he'd been methodically pushing fries into his mouth to three sets of blue eyes that was punctuated with Bart's wide eyed stare. "Uh."

Bart cracked up, clapping his hands together and falling out of his chair with a clatter as Cissie shot him a flat look, Steph-oh! Steph! right- and Cassie just shook their heads at him. "Oh, hey Steph. When'd you get here?"

Anyone who said all blondes looked the same simply had to sit at this table for about five minutes to have that notion smacked from their mind. Cassie was slender and magazine pretty with soft looking hair and a small full lipped mouth. Cissie had a squared jaw, wide gray blue eyes and a strong nose over the build of a volleyball player. Her hair was straight, pulled back from her face in a tight pony tail that fell between her shoulderblades. Steph had a round face, bright blue eyes, and freckles under honey colored hair that kept escaping her hair tie no matter how tightly she kept it. The three had been with Conner almost as long as he could remember and he smiled, slow and awkward before just shrugging and dimpling brightly. "Heard you made a friend."

"I always make friends, Con-O. I'm friendly. Yes, I am." Steph, reached over, stealing two fries before popping them in her mouth to waggle her eyebrows at him.

"So?" Conner glanced around, twisting in his seat to stare out at the crowd before back over his shoulder at her quizzically. "Did you lose them?"

Bart flopped against his back, arms draped over his shoulders to point out the bay of open doors towards the hallway. "Wow, you really weren't paying attention at all. He's in the library."

"We have a library?" Steph laughed, Cassie rolled her eyes, and Cissie threw a spork at him with a deadly sort of accuracy. He glanced over at Bart who just shook his head. "Dumb question?"

"Dude, it's amazing that you even get C's."

"Jerk."

Bart hugged him quickly before flopping back into his chair and continuing to work through the small mountain of food and baked goods, but not before sliding the last piece of strawberry cake over the table to Steph without looking and licking some frosting off his thumb. "It's down the left wing and off of the science labs. You know, where the science happens."

"I don't go down there unless I have to. They do weird shit in that area. Always smells like eggs or something."

"That'd be the sulfur." Bart shrugged. Conner knew that his friend was smart, but sometimes he just wondered how smart. The boy could rattle off facts at the drop of a hat and if you could get him to sit still long enough he'd breeze through his trig homework. "From the chem lab."

"Right. Sulfur." Conner blinked. "I've got practice tonight. You going to be cool getting home?"

"Yeah, don't worry about me. I'm gonna go gawk at the new kid some more. It's like a fishbowl."

"Bart, that's rude," Cassie told him, eyes only flickering up from the screen of her phone before moving back down. She snorted, tipping it to show the other two girls who groaned and rolled their eyes in turn.

Steph pulled the tie out of her hair and Conner shot a look out of his peripheral to watch Bart freeze completely, french fry halfway to his mouth as she shook it out before focusing back in on what she was saying. "-seems okay, accent is kinda cute, but not really my cup. I mean, could be, but he gets flustered easy. I might just pick at him a bit more, see what shakes."

"We're talking about the new kid?" Conner asked.

"Yes, Tim. Gotham accent, not real talkative. Well, sort of talkative but more like he's really good at steering the conversation away from things he doesn't want to talk about." There was a small line that showed between her brows and Conner scooted back in his chair. He knew that look.

"Steph." He shook his head. "Steph no. Whatever it is you're thinking, just, no."

"Con-O! Boo, you're no fun." Steph pouted spectacularly and dropped her chin into her hand. "You don't even know what I wa-"

"No. Trust me, just no." Conner swiped the last bite of his mac and cheeseburger, popping it into his mouth and pushing the rest of his fries to the center of the table where the girls could steal them without feeling bad about whatever weird diet Coach Grayson had them on for cheer leading.

"Fine," Steph mugged, somehow making the word four syllables. Conner packed up, shoving at Bart before slinging his tray up and collecting all the trash from the others' trays and backing up. Steph's eyes glinted, wicked tightening around her eyes as she wrinkled her nose. She dropped her chin onto her palms and managed to point towards the doors. "Fish bowl's thatta way. You know you're curious. Last new kid you decked. See how that turned out?" She tossed Bart a wink, grinning when he dimpled widely at her and unaware of the way his neck went red.

Conner held up two fingers, the solemn oath of a BoyScout. "I solemnly swear I will not hit the new kid."

"Probably a good thing cause he's a ninja," Bart told him, nodding once.

"What?"

"A ninja. Like from that movie crouching people hidden monkeys?" Bart looked around the table like he was surprised everyone was paying him full attention. He lifted his hands, swiping through what were either kung fu moves or a seizure.

"Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon," Cissie corrected, tilting her head in interest.

"Okay, no hitting the ninja new kid, promise," Conner amended.

"Cool. Race you home later?" Bart asked, folding his last slice of pizza in half and starting to eat from the crust in.

"You'll win."

"Always do!" Bart grinned, licking some sauce from the corner of his mouth and waved brightly at Conner as he turned.

Conner tossed him a wave over his shoulder and told himself he wasn't going to spy. He repeated it over and over again as he walked to his locker. He repeated it aloud as he turned the corner and sighed gustily when he spotted the wall of interior windows that looked into the library. He shaded his eyes against the glare, leaning against the glass to scan the space for anyone new. He saw Mrs Miller and Miss Gordon behind the desk, working through the paperwork that came with Library protocol but no sign of a sneaky ninja new kid from Gotham. He sighed, taking a step back and turned, slamming directly into someone and starting to apologize even as the books and papers settled with a clatter and flutter to the floor. "Dude. Sorry, fuck, my bad."

"You are made of bricks," the boy told him, voice surprisingly low for his size as he rubbed at his chin where Conner had cracked him with an accidental elbow.

Conner blinked. "New kid ninja," he heard himself say, already mentally facepalming as the words left his mouth.

The boy looked at him. "Tim Drake, transfer. Not so much a ninja." He bent, throwing Conner a look like he was starting to think he was slow. "I'll just get out of your way." He was shorter than Conner, slim and sort of small in the way some guys seemed lean. He didn't have the brawny feel to him that most of the guys Conner knew did, but wasn't that sort of skinny that Bart managed. He had black hair, fair skin, and simple gray clothes that were a cut too preppy for most of the kids that went to Smallville High.

"Are you wearing boat shoes?" Again, mental facepalm.

"This is usually the point people say hello," Tim told him, definitely giving Conner the look like he thought he was slow. "So, I'm going to go with yes, these are boat shoes and back away slowly."

"It smells like eggs that way," Conner said helpfully, trailing off. He blinked. "Right." He bent, grabbing up Tim's books and shoved them back into his hands, patting them once. "I'm going to go before you think I'm slower than I obviously am."

Tim widened his eyes, biting his lip and nodded a sardonic sort of agreement that he somehow managed to convey simply with body language and small twitches of his face. Conner would have been impressed if he wasn't so embarrassed. He felt himself toss a waggly fingered wave and rolled his eyes at himself so hard it actually turned him in the other direction so he could flee.

"Nice to meet you too, Eggs," Tim muttered behind him. Conner Kent was pretty sure he failed forever at making good first impressions.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim goes to a football game. The closet is not a metaphor.

Tim still wasn’t entirely sure how he’d ended up at a football game. Friday nights were usually spent online, paging through the forums he followed on tech advances and a side fansite dedicated to his hero in hacktivism. He didn’t have much else to do, there were only so many times he could climb onto the roof of the foster home and stare at the sky. He could pick out the constellations by rote and had a moment where he wondered if the sight of actual stars would ever get old. Gotham had been gray and black, the sky lit with the refracted lights of street signs, hazing through wild neons and dipping back into a strange muddled riot. He’d been passing by the front hallway when the doorbell rang. He paused, hot pocket on his palm and stared at the door before looking behind him. There still wasn’t anyone else in the house so he turned back, eyebrows drawing together in confusion.

He approached slowly, feet quiet in his socks and wondered if the lack of peep hole was a country thing. There was a level of openness here that left Tim feeling a little naked and off kilter. He swallowed, pulling the door open with a sense of unease and straightened. “Bart?”

“Hi!” Bart spun from where he’d been picking the paint off the porch railing to toss a wild arm in the air and point at him. He had a sort of manically wild smile that faltered before settling into a similarly deep frown of confusion.“Why aren’t you dressed?”

Tim glanced down at himself. He was wearing plain jeans and a gray t-shirt with a matching cardigan. “Uh, is this a trick question?”

“Whatever, I guess that’ll do. Get something red would you?”

The air was cooling down from the late summer heat wave, brisk in the evenings as the wind curled lazily off the browning corn fields and whistled down the streets to shake the leaves on the oaks. The house he was living in was a simple two story white clapboard with cheerful blue shutters and door. It had a trellis on the edge of the porch that shaded an honest to God porch swing. Tim shifted, eyes skipping over the bright colors Bart was wearing and the number twelve he had painted on his face before looking to the side, leaning out the door to make sure there wasn’t a pack of feral high schoolers waiting to jump him if he fell for the joke. “Bart?”

“Football, dude,” Bart answered as he threw Tim a look and pointed at his feet, badgering into the foyer to eye the soft colors curiously and then snag the hot pocket from Tim’s hand and take a bite. He chewed widely, ducking to look around the baseboards before turning in a quick circle, protesting lowly when Tim stole the Hot Pocket back with a glare and pointed where his shoes were sitting in a set of cubbies near the door. “Yes, shoes. Put them on. We’re going to be late. I hate being late because then I get stuck at the top of the bleachers and I can’t see shit and Cass punches me and she’s tiny and junk, but she’s got a wallop.”

“Do you know any girls whose name doesn’t start with C?” Tim asked, sitting on the ledge of the cubby cabinets and unlacing the chucks.

“Steph!”

“Besides that.” He tucked them on, pushing his heels down before sighing and just handing the Hot Pocket back to Bart and tying them, left then right.

Bart tilted his head, jaw working as he finished the food in two bites and stared off into space thinking. “I’m sure I do, but you put me on the spot and that’s uncool so I’m just going to say that if you don’t hurry up we’re going t miss the tumbling before the game which sucks because they actually toss Cassie in the air and Steph does some of her old gymnastics stuff.”

"And Cass is different from Cassie?" Tim asked, eyebrows lifting as he pushed to his feet, reaching around where Bart was stretching his arms up and bouncing on the balls of his feet to snag his housekey. He ducked into the chain, settling it under his shirt with a shiver, patting it once before waving towards the door.

"Cass is very different from Cassie. Don't get them mixed up. Cass is little and asian. Can I say asian? Well, she is, so whatever. She doesn't say much because she thinks that people are more honest when they aren't talking. She's deep as fuck." Bart closed the door for Tim, pushing it open and then shutting it again. Tim pushed him lightly to the side, wondering if the move he'd seen Steph use where she herded him like a bouncy puppy with the outside of her knee and carefully placed elbows was something he needed to adopt.

"I'm getting that," Tim replied, always taking the longer breaths as a sign to speak. He locked the door. One lock. Another weird country tic that he was wrapping his head around. Bart was talking, but that seemed to be his natural state and Tim let the wall of words settle onto his skin and carry him down the steps and onto the sidewalk. Now that he was out of the house, he could actually hear the muffled roar of voices as the entire town paraded down the street in pairs or groups, old pickups puttering along and honking like punctuation to random screams cheering the football team to victory. Tim watched, eyes wide. He couldn’t even remember if his old high school had a football team, let alone a fan base that was this excited. He vaguely remembered lackluster pep rallies that he’d slipped out of, ducking under the bleachers to slip past the teachers on duty as the cheerleaders waved angry pom poms at the crowd.

Smallville was as different as it was possible to be from everything he’d known before... He tuned back in, looking over at Bart, eyebrows twisting with amusement as the boy seemed to be trying to act out the last game at double speed, words running together as he flailed around animatedly. Tim smiled, tight and small before pushing his hands into the pockets on his cardigan and following along as best he could. The streets were lined with what looked like crab apples and there were signs in different yards proclaiming the home of different players. He speculated idly on the gender stereotyping happening with the red and pink color scheme differentiating between cheerleaders and footballers. He liked the Bart didn’t need more than an occasional noise to keep him talking.

They rounded the corner that took them up the hill towards the school at about the same time Bart launched into the differences between Biowave 1 and 2. Smallville High was an unassuming brick building built by the WPA during the end of the Depression. It had that quaint squat quality that smoothed over the top of the hill, parking lot curling around the left side, and the stadium was behind and set on the flat plain to the rear of the school. There were trees shading the lawn and growing large and spreading near the windows. It looked like something out of a television show and Tim just kept his mind from making the natural contrasts to Gotham. The sky was starting to tinge orange, the huge lights flickering on and blinking into a steady blazing glow, so when Bart grabbed him by the arm and started sprinting, Tim could only follow as fast as he could.

Bart flashed his student ID and Tim followed suit, moving to stand shoulder to shoulder and look up at the stands before looking out towards the field. The Smallville team was dressed in that same red that Bart was wearing and the overall effect was a bit morbid, the stadium looking like a wall of blood and screams. Tim was glad he’d worn gray, but realised a moment later that he’d stand out like a sore thumb in the crowd when a sharp whistle caught his attention and he caught Steph’s eye where she was waving the red pom poms and wiggling ridiculously. He smiled, eyes crinkling and mouth twitching at the corners, tossing her a quick wave.

“She does the best flips,” Bart told him seriously, eating his way through a plate of cheese drenched nachos that he’d managed to get between Tim’s staring and now. Bart waved a massive soda cup and started pointing out his friends. Cassie was smiling and yelling encouragement at the audience, nimble and quick with a surprising vertical jump. Cissie was putting together what looked like an air canon, sighting along the barrel with a critical eye. Bart pointed to the line of football players, all looking eerily the same in the short calf length white pants, cleats, and red jerseys over padded shoulders. 

“I have never been to a football game before,” Tim heard himself say, eyes focusing on a familiar face. It was the guy who’d crashed into him outside the library, broad shoulders larger under the pads, helmet dangling from his taped fingers and smile impossibly bright in the floodlights.

Bart dimpled at him, turning on a quick heel and starting up the stairs to shove and bustle his way into the front row before patting the metal bench beside him. “First time for everything, Chem Nerd.”

Tim glanced over at Bart before the horns blew and the game started. Bart narroated the entire thing despite there being an annoucer in the booth. He’d bound to his feet and go racing down the steps to frolic in delight when the team scored before zipping back up t settle in next to Tim again. He’d been right about Cass, who’d melted into the seat next to Tim without a word, looked him over once, and gone back to quietly watching the game with a small private smile on her face. They’d settled into quiet and Tim was grateful for both her silence and bart’s animated play by play.

Smallville was winning and Tim wasn’t surprised to find that the boy he’d met was part of the reason for that. He was light on his feet, blitzing past the other team’s defense and moving with a fluid athleticism down to the goal line. He’d watch as the boy jumped, hand smacking against his chest like he was crowing and only get glimpses of that bright smile behind the face cage on the helmet. The halftime show was interesting, the marching band settling onto the field and starting into the regimented show and Tim was surprised to see Cissie on the field, twirling rifles with the color guard. “I thought she was a cheerleader.”

“She does both because she thinks throwing guns around is badass.”

Tim silently agreed and blinked once when Cassie was tossed into the air, executing a perfect high split as Steph started what was obviously a trained routine of flips and twists. In the end, the entire thing was a blur of screaming and red that left Tim a little drained, but glowing idly at the idea of having friends. He’d had Bernard and Tam back in Gotham, but it was more a silent competition like the debate team than the sort of wild gregarious thing that seemed to happen organically here in Smallville. He found himself a little bereft when the game ended and started to gather his things, heading for home when Bart raced in front of him, tipping his head in question and made a face. “Where’re you going?”

“Uh, home?”

The crowd streamed around them, voices yelling and the honking of car noises a backbeat to the bright brass section playing triumphant melodies. Bart just shook his head and pointed to a line of trucks surrounded by kids his own age. “No way man. After party at Cissie’s. We have to celebrate.”

“That’s a real thing?” Tim asked before he could stop himself.

“Was that an honest question?” Bart replied, rolling his eyes and starting for the group.

“I thought they just did that stuff in teen movies.” Tim followed anyway, blinking in surprise at the squeal of laughter followed by a bright hug and ended up bustled into the back of a pickup with Steph, Bart, and Cass. He pulled his heels up, tucking his arms around his shins and watched the road blur past, the music from the radio muffled and the conversations overly loud, caught and torn away by the wind. The ride was bumpy, peppered with wild laughter and the animated sort of glittering eyed looks of kids being kids. He sat back, studying them and turned his head up, watching the sky with wide eyes. For just a moment, a brief wild second, it felt like flying.

The house is huge by Smallville standards, which puts it squarely in the obscene but not rich portion of Tim’s mind. It’s a stately two story brick with white columns and french doors off the wrap around porch. There’s a three car garage at the end of the u shaped drive and the kids pile out as Tim gawks just a little. He’d toured the Wayne Mansion in Gotham, vacant and left to the city after the family died in the shooting in the alley. He’d grown up in a small two bedroom apartment, Drake industries folding after their main contributor went public. He’d watched his mother go cold and silent, drinking her life away and his Dad remarry and move on with a new family. He’d had a life before the incident, but now he was just tucked into the foster home in Kansas of all places, placed there by the well meaning trust left in his name.

He shakes his head when he’s punched on the arm, turning to blink at Stephanie where she was just giving him this open look of question. “You coming?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” She jumps down, knees bending and saunters into the crowd that’s milling around, moving in and out of the open front door. He can hear water in the back. Of course there’s a pool. 

Tim wouldn’t classify himself as shy, but he does like to have a full knowledge of the situation before he interacts. Smallville so far had been a boisterous ride of color and sound and the party was no different. He took a red Solo cup and dumped the bear, rinsing it out in the nearest sink to fill with water. The front entrance led directly into a hallway and stairs, two rooms on either side filled with kids talking or dancing respectively. The kitchen was a madhouse and he’d ducked through to the outside, taking a deep breath and blinking at the flickering lights under the blue water of the pool. He settled on the edge, watching the party around him, grinning when he spotted Bart crowd surfing and again when he made eye contact with Cass across the pool. He has a bright flash of awareness, the loud laughter he tagged as Bart’s and a moment of blind panic at the amused eyebrow Cass shot him before he was underwater.

He sputtered to the surface, flicking his hair out of his eyes and feeling the weight of denim start to pull him down before reaching to the edge of the pool and hauling himself out. Bart was on his side, legs kicking wildly as he laughed, arms wrapped around his stomach. Stephanie looked smug. Cassie leaned over Steph’s shoulder, pointing towards the door.”Linen closet’s upstairs.”

Tim licked his lips, tasting chlorine and what might be embarrassment and flicked his arms, sending water in a wild spray at the girls. They shrieked, backing up before Steph came over to help him to his feet. He peeled the wet cardigan ff, nose wrinkled as he handed it over to her and peeled out of his shirt. She raised appreciative eyebrows at him and he made a small face back.

“Holding out on us, Timmy?”

“You could’ve asked.”

“More fun this way. Got you moving. Thought you were going to just sit there and stare at people all night trying to take over the world.”

“Same thing I do every night, Steph.” She laughed and Tim grinned a small little smile, toeing out of his shoes before hooking out of his socks and throwing them at her. He padded through the house, following the quiet instead f the noise and found himself upstairs. First door was a bedroom-obviously occupied. “Sorry. My bad.”

Second door was a bathroom and he took a moment to shuck out of the wet denim, boxers dripping slightly onto the tile before glancing out at the hallway and moving for the other doors. Another bedroom, a second bathroom, a study and finally Tim found the linen closet. He’d been expecting a small actual closet with four shelves stacked with towels and sheets, not the small room with shelves on all three walls. He stepped in, hearing people in the hallway and looked for the lightswitch, hand roaming over the wall. The last thing he needed was to be caught in a stranger’s house on the floor with all the bedrooms in nothing but a pair of wet boxers. The voices came closer and he stilled, closing his eyes and trying to be indistinguishable from the dark.

“I don’t know what the fuck your problem is man, you know exactly where everything is.” There was a scuffle of sound and then the door flipped open and someone else was shoved bodily into the closet with a peal of bright laughter, before slamming shut again with a definitive click. Tim tried not to push or shove, tangling with the other person in the dark as they yelped and shoved at him. “What the fuck!”

“Ow.”

“Sorry, shit. Bart! You’re a dick! C’mon guys, this isn’t funny.” The voice managed to ping Tim and he recognized it from the hallway outside the library. He stilled completelly. The last thing he needed was to be shoved in a linen closet with the town star football player. Images f homophobic beat downs and headlines from schools in Idaho flipping across the forefront of his brain. He missed the comment directed at him. 

“Um, what?”

“I said, sorry,” the boy muttered, twisting around and pushing a hand out to find the chain on the light above them, tugging it once where it flared brightly and went dark again with a soft pop. “Well fuck.”

"Eggs, right?" Tim asked, voice overly loud in the small space and he winced slightly, mouth going thin before he shifted his foot, stepping on the other boy's and throwing out a hand for balance when he tried to correct.

"Conner actually," he replied, twisting to look around the linen closet in hopes of spotting a towel in the dark.

"Oh," Tim mumbled, pulling his hand back from Conner's shoulder and curling his toes against the tile slightly as he just went completely still. Conner would have missed it if it weren't so cramped in here. He could hear the party outside and had a wild moment of recognition at Bart's laughter before it went tearing down the hall.

"Um." He twisted again, knocking into what very well could have been a Tim statue before grabbing one of the shelves and trying the handle to the door he'd been shoved bodily through and flushed darkly. "Fuck. Assholes."

Tim turned, grimacing in the dark and blinking widely when they were chest to chest. "Uh." He flushed, feeling Conner's skin press against his from shoulder to hip when the other boy breathed and tried to step back, hands traitorously grabbing at his thick arm when he stumbled again and nearly cracked his head on the shelf behind him. "Tell me you're joking."

Conner almost dropped his head in a visible wilt but remembered at the last minute that it would drop squarely against Tim's shoulder and thumped it back against the door instead. He thumped it again for good measure. "I'm sorry. My friends are assholes."

"I'm starting to see that." Tim took a moment before just palming Conner's hip and starting to shift them. It was like trying to move a wall at first before the other boy realized what he was doing and started the simple shuffle of feet. It was like dancing for a moment and Tim shoved it aside to stop them in reversed positions. "Stay put."

"I'm not a dog."

"I'm aware."

Conner watched Tim turn, tilting his head as the smaller boy bent and twisted at the same time before leaning back slightly. "What're you doing?"

"Picking the lock."

"You can *do* that?"

Tim tilted a small sharp smile over his shoulder and Conner was suddenly intensely aware of the feel of wet skin against his thighs where Tim's back was touching him. "I'm from Gotham."

"Dude."

Tim lifted his eyebrows in a quick twitch that on anyone else would have been nothing, but somehow eloquently explained his superiority in all things. "Want to learn, Eggs?"

Conner told his dick to shut the fuck up and nodded before pressing a palm against the door and leaning to peer at what Tim was doing. "Where the hell did you get a hair pin?"

"Don't ask."

"Steph is going to kill you," Conner grinned, eyes crinkling in the dark. "She's always raging when she loses those things."

"Then she shouldn't help lock her *friends* in closets," Tim replied evenly, a flicker of something steely and scary tinting the tone.

"You're kind of terrifying, you know that right?"

"Says the massive brick wall of corn fed football muscle looming over me," Tim muttered.

Conner flexed, mugging. "I work out."

The hit was fast and unexpected, cracking loud with skin on skin and Conner laughed before the sting set in and rubbed his stomach as Tim got back to work. "Here, watch."

“Totally a ninja,” Conner muttered, watching Tim’s hands as they worked. He didn’t have delicate girly hands, but they were dexterous, moving through the motions with a surety that was impressive in it’s own right. There was a soft clatter and the lock popped. He dimpled down at Tim before handing him a towel that he’d snagged from the shelves. Tim smiled back, moving to his feet in a way that kept them from touching and was oddly graceful.

“Thanks,” Tim said, ducking his head and turning the knob, pushing the door open and in the light they just stared at each other for a moment before Tim darted out and disappeared into the bathroom down the hall. Conner watched him go and swallowed thickly before heading back with an armful of towels to give to the girls where they were swimming in their underwear. He didn’t see Tim again that night, even when Tim was watching.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conner does chores and tries not to think too hard about the freaky new kid.

There was always that moment right before dawn when the alarm started to chirp happily that Conner wanted to fling it bodily against the wall and tuck his head back under the pillow with a groan. He considered it a monumental feat that he didn't, instead just glaring at it like he could set it on fire with his eyes and rolling out of bed. Smallville in the predawn light was pretty, watery colored and muted. He padded to the bathroom, grunting his morning hello at Pa, the smell of bacon rising up the stairs. He brushed his teeth in the shower, spitting towards his toes and toweled off before slipping into the pair of comfortable jeans, gray tank, and generic worn flannel. He'd get changed again after the morning chores and his boots always felt a little heavy as he clomped down the steps, hopping the last three with a palm on the banister. He stole two pieces of bacon from the napkin covered plate, pulling his hand back quickly to grin cheekily at Ma when she smacked for his hand with the spatula. The door creaked, the air still damp with the morning fog that settled into the furrows in the fields like a soft blur. He made a face at the old rooster as it cocked its head at him, beady eyes glinting as the sun crested the hill. It ruffled its feathers, puffing up proudly with a warble of sound and Conner narrowed his eyes. "You and me, man. We're gonna have words."

The cows barely noticed him anymore, just turning big brown eyes at him before huffing soft breaths and going back to their mindless chewing. He milked first, listening to the steady rhythm of it streaming into the metal pail. He leaned his forehead against Bess' side, closing his eyes to settle into that almost doze he could manage with the more mindless chores. She flicked an ear, shifting with a quiet sway. He talked to them some mornings, telling them about what he'd forgotten to do the night before and bemoaning the upcoming dismal score on his algebra test. He was sure they were very interested, captive audience and all. 

After that he'd set the pail to the side, gripping the twine around the hay bales to heft them up, back cracking with a morning pop as his muscles sang with the workout. He'd shift and restack to keep them from getting hay rot before moving with the pitchfork to muck the stalls. He could feel the day warming, the light creeping along the interior of the barn and glowing on the natural dust that always kicked up. He wasn't poetic, but he'd always take a moment to just watch the motes dance, blowing lightly to give them a wild swirl with a small crooked grin. He fed the pigs, moving to the hen house with the pail and setting it down outside the chicken wire. He and Rufus the rooster stared each other down before he tossed the first handful of grain and heard the flap of wings as the hens hopped down to start scratching at the dirt, the noise rising volubly. He always snickered at people who thought chickens were quiet birds who sat and laid eggs with a sort of nonplussed beady beakiness. He quickly disabused them of that notion, the rivalry between Rufus and himself an old grudge. He waited until the birds were all clustered around, clucking and gabbing like old ladies after church and collected the warm eggs into the basket.

Ma was waiting for him on the porch, apron a threadbare old pink check with darker red piping around the pockets. It was the smock style that covered her simple blouse and old high waisted jeans she kept rolled to mid calf over the battered clogs. She took the basket, letting him in the screen door with the pail of milk that he set on the counter. She covered it with a cheese cloth and Conner settled into his chair at a sprawl. Pa glanced at him over the top of the paper. Conner still wasn't entirely sure how the older man managed to beat him done at the morning chores. He was starting to suspect voodoo, but distracted himself quickly with the stack of pancakes. He was halfway through his fifth when he realized that both Ma and Pa were staring at him expectantly. He swallowed, looking between them both before licking the syrup from the corner of his mouth and smiling brightly. When in doubt, smile it out.

Ma snorted. "You need me to fill you in on what you missed?" she asked, plucking a bit of bacon and tipping it at him before starting to eat again. Pa snorted into his coffee before smoothing his face back to a placid neutral.

"Is this one of those trick questions that means I should have been paying attention the whole time?"

Pa shot him a look, shaking his head slightly before smiling at Ma and ducking back behind the paper to ostensibly read the sports section. Ma smacked him and turned her smile back to Conner. "I was asking if you'd met the poor boy the Sackworth's took in."

"Uh."

Ma poked at Pa's shoulder, mouth pursed in thought. "What was his name again?"

"Tim." Pa was always helpful with one word answers.

"Yes! That's right, Tim." Ma turned to look at him, soft blue gray eyes full of that sort of motherly affection that just radiated from her pores.

Conner shifted in his chair, nodding once. "Yeah. We've met."

“How is he?” Ma asked, voice pitching with the same concern she gave him when he was sprawled face down on the couch bemoaning the aches and bruises from the first week of football camp. There was the one time the old mare had stomped on his foot and Ma had sat at his side with a cool damp cloth, clucking over him and speaking in that soft warm tone. Conner blinked, slanting her a look.

“Uh, he seemed fine?” He hadn’t meant for it to be a question, but it was early.

“Hrmm,” Ma hummed, mouth moving into a thin line before she looked directly at him. “You be nice to that boy, you hear?”

“I solemnly swear that I will refrain from giving him swirlies and shoving him into a locker,” Conner replied, face blank until he cracked a bright smile. There was a rustle of paper, Pa arching an eyebrow at him from over the top of the paper before snapping it straight again.

“Conner,” Ma said simply, reaching to take the plate he had mopped clean and bump him with her hip.

“Yes, Ma,” Conner answered, voice quiet and contrite before he pushed to his feet, helping to clear and wash the dishes before darting up the stairs to wash up again before the second alarm rang. He didn’t ride the bus and their truck was starting to get finicky with the clutch, so he started out the gravel edged road as the sun really started to burn off the morning haze, sky going bluer by the moment. He heard the bus rumbling down the two lane before he saw it, sighing when he realized he’d be late again, head dropping forward at the weight of a detention just waiting for him before he’d even seen the school.

He heard the first bell ring when he hit the parking lot, sighing as he started a short abortive jog up the side of the hill to push through the front doors. “You’re late, Kent.”

“Yes, sir, Principal Skinner,” Conner mumbled, rolling from the direction of his first class to swing towards where the short balding man was standing and take the detention notice from his hands and stuff into his pocket,

“Your cousin never had this problem,” Principal Skinner called, voice an awkward nasal drawl that slid along the hallway floors. Conner made a face, mouthing the sentiment with a bitter twist to his mouth, rolling his eyes as he caught the edge of the corner with a quick palm and swung around. He tossed the bird towards where the man was standing, hidden behind the wall.

“What did the wall do to you?” 

Conner froze, startling a half beat later before turning to look over his shoulder. The new kid was standing there, blue eyes quiet in his face. He hadn’t gotten the chance to really look at him yet, sort of just catching surreptitious glances in the halls. He was a good hand shorter than Conner, whipcord thin with inky black hair that was either artfully styled into those drooping spikes or he had managed to hit high school with perfected bed head. Conner immediately pushed the one curl that always defiantly flopped onto his forehead back and shrugged. “Detention. Gonna be late for practice. That means extra laps. Extra laps means I get home late . Getting home late means I’m going to be fixing fences in the dark or by truck lights.”

“Oh,” the boy said, face going blank for a moment, eyebrows pulling together with a small crease before he nodded. “Do you know where room four twenty three is? I got turned around.”

“You’re in the two hundred hall. Whole place is like a square. Second floor is where the twenties are, third the thirties. You take that stairwell at the end of the hall up one floor and then stay to the left. It’ll pass through the three hundred’s and drop you in four. If you loop around to one, you’ve gone too far.” Conner moved to his locker, tugging the lock he never actually locked open and pulling the door open with a rattle. He dropped his book bag, hunkering down to grab his first period book before stuffing the whole bag into the bottom with a small grunt.

“I wanted to thank you for not being weird about the thing and congratulate you on the win,” came that low voice again. He didn’t pitch it up to carry, but it still filled the empty hall. Conner nodded.

“No problem,” Conner answered, closing the door and glancing over. He blinked, the hall empty and only the faint echo of feet on the stairwell his response. “Uh, okay then.” He glanced behind him before quirking a face at the empty spot and turning to head for class. “Freaky kid, man.”

He slid into first period, waving broadly when the teacher welcomed him with a droll comment and clattered into his seat. He didn’t think about it again until lunch when Bart caught him staring across the crowded space, waving a hand in front of his face to break his gaze.

“You’re staring at the new kid again, dude.”

Conner blinked once, throwing Bart a flat look and rolled his eyes. “Whatever, you’re deranged.”

“Still not the one staring at the Chemistry Nerd.”

There was a clatter and Bart’s wild laugh as Conner batted at his hair and went back to eating. He glanced over at the slim dark haired boy one more time. Tim Drake: new kid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, thank you all for the feedback. It means a lot to me. I have the next bits planned out and am working on them as they come clearer. More Steph and Cassie in the next bits.


	6. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steph is a babysitter. Damian is by far the hardest kid she's ever had to work with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a series of random drabbles because I cannot hide my love of Steph and Damian interaction.

When Steph had asked him to meet her at the park, he hadn’t really been prepared for what was actually a playground. There was a swing set, a monument to monkey bars complete with straight and curly slide and a drawbridge that bounced as the kids ran over it screaming loudly. Tim pushed his hands into the pockets on his jacket, pulling it tight across his shoulders and tipped a quick hello to Steph where she waved brightly from a park bench. She had a purple knit cap pulled over her bangs, two blonde braids hanging over her shoulders and that ever present honest smile. Tim found himself smiling back. He sat, the metal bench cold through his jeans in the shade of mid Autumn and rubbed his jaw against his shoulder before saying anything. “Not quite what I was expecting.”

“More crack dealers where you’re from?” Steph replied without missing a beat.

Tim thought for a moment. “Less knives.”

Steph laughed loudly at his lame attempt at a joke, bumping him with her shoulder. “You obviously haven’t met the kid I babysit.” She narrowed her eyes, picking out a younger boy who was pushing the toes of his shoes in the mulch and swinging slowly from side to side, eyes narrowed with intent as he watched them back.

Tim’s eyebrows shot up, blinking once and leaning back. “Uh.”

“He’s harmless.” Steph paused, tilting her head slightly. “Well, mostly harmless.”

The boy had hopped off the swing and was stalking towards them, coltish and angular as he swiveled around a pair of toddlers who careened past. He paused in front of them, stomping his feet before crossing skinny arms over his chest. Tim hadn’t felt someone take his measure before, had thought it was something that only really happened in books. However, the black haired boy was studying him with a singular focus, eyes skipping from his shoes to his face in one long slide before he leveled the blackest glare that Tim had ever seen. “Who are you?”

The park seemed to go quiet, the boy’s voice oddly low, like he was growling the words out and Tim glanced at Stephanie before pointing to himself slightly and leaning back. “I’m Tim.”

“I hate you.”

“Uhhh...”

The boy only broke eye contact when Steph reached out, palming the top of his head to turn his gaze forcibly, grinning at him. “Damian,” she said simply, narrowing her eyes at him. “Be nice. Tim’s my friend.”

“You have abysmal taste.” The boy made a sour face, eyeing Tim darkly before reaching out and grabbing Steph's wrist to pull her with a long lean towards the swings. "You can do better. He smells like fish."

Tim sniffed his shoulder surreptitiously watching as Steph moved to her feet and kneed the kid in the hip towards the swings. "Do I?"

"Don't question his majesty."

This was going to be a long day.

*

“Tt, Drake” the boy managed, nose wrinkling as he held the waffle cone and sized Tim up where he sat, gaze black and murderous. Tim waved slightly. “He still smells like fish.”

Steph paused, looking between Damian and Tim as she snagged paper napkins from the dispenser. She leaned over, sniffing Tim’s jacket before slinging an arm around Damian’s shoulders and steering him out of the ice cream shop.

Tim had never wanted to hit a kid before, so he just swallowed back the urge, smiled tightly, and followed them out.

*

Steph was sprawled across the couch, watching the movie while eating the latest packet of frozen thin mints she'd unearthed from the freezer. Damian was sitting at the other end, arms crossed over his chest and glaring at the cartoon. "This is dumb."

"Rude," Steph muttered back, batting at him with the half empty sleeve of cookies. "Mock not my childhood."

"Talking deer, talking rabbits, talking dogs, talking lions," Damian explained, voice low despite his age, still a little breathy as he slanted her a deadpan look and stole the cookies like the strange ninja child he was.

Steph grinned brightly. "The best."

"This is unacceptable," Damian replied, hunkering down and eating his way through one of the thin mints before tossing the package back to her, ears going a little red even though his glower never changed. "If we're going to get married some day," he started, off hand and imperious. "You are going to have to give up these sorts of things."

Steph blinked, shrugging loosely before poking him in a skinny arm with her foot. "Or you're going to have to sit through all the Disney movies ever created."

Damian seemed to think about the statement, tongue picking the chocolate cookie from the back of his teeth as his nose wrinkled. "Tt. Fine."

Steph threw her hands into the air. "Win!"

*

Damian made it a point to walk the three blocks to the gymnastic studio where his babysitter trained. He’d gone to the store with all the cards and floral smelling pink things that girls seemed to like. He’d braved the pinched cheeks and ribbons, the cooed praise and glitter. The box of red chocolates was stuffed into his backpack and he turned the corner of the door, counting back from ten at the sound of voices just beyond the door. 

“-take the jobs anymore. He’s a hellion. I think that he calls me Fatgirl as a term of endearment, but I don’t know how much more I can take. I may just turn them down next time.” That was Steph’s voice and Damian froze, hand on the door.

“Can I pick it up then? They pay way more than the average.” He didn’t know that voice but he knew the way his heart was beating faster, skin gone cold with a sense of awareness.

Steph made a strange sound, somewhere between a grunt and a laugh. “If you want Damian, you can have him.”

Damian ducked his head, flushing hot and embarrassed before setting the box down in the hallway, stomping on it once and turning to slip silently from the building. “Tt.”

*

Damian glared darkly at Tim, mouth thinned into a small white line. His jaw worked, face small and bitter looking as he breathed around the way his cheeks went blotchy and red with anger. “Women are fickle and useless.”

Tim had a weird moment where all he could do was shrug and agree. “You deal.”

There was an awkward silence between them as Damian processed the words and moved over to stand in front of Tim, arms crossed over his chest. “I still hate you, Drake.”

Tim almost smiled, instead nodded sagely. “I still hate you, too.”

Damian nodded once, kicking him in the shin before turning to lean against the wall next to him and glare at where Steph and Bart were talking. Tim knew better than to interrupt their ceasefire.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason Todd likes fighting, fast cars, and pie. [Character Study]

Jason Todd had blown into Smallville three years before, set fire to a trashcan, promptly decked the deputy sheriff, spent the night in jail, and opened the only worthwhile mechanic's shop: Under the Hood. He lived above the shop in what was basically a studio apartment with a gas stove he'd scrounged out of the junkyard, a fridge that should have been retired in the late fifties - complete with the pistachio color and bottle opener on the front next to the age spotted chrome. He slept on a mattress that he could wheel around the cement floor lazily, lifted on wood pallets he'd installed rollers on. He had a wicked smile, a wicked right hook, and a wicked kiss.

He liked the life he'd built here. He liked that there was beer in the fridge, a carton of cigarettes in the ice box next to the vodka. He liked the work he did. The pneumatics on the tire wrench zipped and screamed happily and there wasn't a prettier sound in the world than when an engine on a car that seemed doomed purred to life under his touch. The garage was a simple two story building with a vaulted ceiling to handle the car lifts, a small cement block office with venetian blinds that shaded the simple logo that he'd had screened into the glass. The bay doors rolled up and he enjoyed the quick bounce he'd give to jump and catch the edge to pull them back down. The cement parking lot had a few cracks, but he viciously weeded them and put his cigarettes out in a bucket of gas that had seeded, fumed gone cold. He shopped at the local grocery store, made an entrance to the farmer's markets, and winked at pretty girls.

Jason was tall and lean, muscled like a cat with forearms that corded and flickered when he worked. His white undershirts were always stained, pulled loose at the collar and just a shade tight. He wore jeans like he'd been poured into them, hitching them higher around knife blade hips with absent thumbs. He had blue eyes and a crooked nose that matched his sly grin. He liked that the women stared and the men glared. He liked that the kids weren't sure whether they wanted to follow him around, so simply settled for watching him with wide eyes from the sidewalk outside the ice cream parlor. Jason was used to the city, but he wasn't about to let small town life slow him down. He found an old Triumph rusting in someone's front yard and had haggled them down to three free oil changes and just hauling it away. It rumbled under him three months later and he pulled the mirrored shades over his eyes and roared down the two lane road that served as Main St until it hit the one intersection outside of city limits. Jason would stop there, staring down the cement until it faded into the water glaze of mirage or turned in a slow sway to duck behind corn fields. Jason knew what his boundaries were. If there was a line he couldn't cross, then he'd be damned if he wouldn't cross the rest.

He liked the Sandsmark diner. He liked the loamy feel of the linoleum booth tops and the strange historic pictures framed neatly on the wall complete with little plaques detailing the event and significance. He liked the knock kneed pre-teen who'd stomped on his boot when he'd cracked on her frizzy hair and braces. He liked her fire. He'd settled into Smallville like a tick, dug in deep and annoying. He liked it that way, even if Deputy Grayson didn't. Fuck him anyway.

Smallville stretched around him, shifting to make room. He didn’t finish high school, but he didn’t let that stop him from casually beating the tar out of the football team when they tried to jump him. His blood sang, fists bruised as he panted, eyes glittering and narrowed to pale blue slits. The fights came fast and regular after that, finally mellowing into a ring that he hosted outside the back lot of his garage one Saturday out of the month- seasonally. When it got too cold, they’d break into random barns, the smell of hay hot in his lungs as he preened, back in his element with jaws cracking to the side and the gasps of the crowd. Jason liked an audience and if there was one thing Smallville teens adored it was their sport.

The farmland sun lightened his hair, gone dark brown in the city smog, but now a paler tipped mess of cowlicks and insouciant bed head. He sauntered through the farmer's market, making sure to toss a wink at Deputy Grayson as he passed by. He touched his thumb to his own jaw, tilting his head curiously and pouting slightly before laughing and moving to where Ma Kent sold her pies. She was the only woman who simply blushed and batted at him when he flirted, shoving food in his general direction as she clucked over him. He hadn't been sure what to do with her, but she'd been determined, wearing him down like the wind smoothing rough wood. Every Friday he went home with a pie and the knowledge that there were at least two people in Smallville that he didn't need to pretend with.

"Jason," Ma Kent said, narrowing her eyes at him as she looked him over, batting his hand away from the sample tray by rote.

"Ma," he grinned, flexing his fingers and leaning against the booth to reach behind him and snag with the opposite hand as she dimpled sweetly at him under her iron gray hair and rockwellian cheeks.

"We're goin' to bring that old Ford down to see you at some point," she replied, ignoring the way he ducked his head and shoved the bit in his mouth, chewing quickly. She did reach over, dusting the crumbs from the front of his shirt absently. "You think you can get the alternator working, or are we going to have to take her out back and shoot her?"

"Who're you talking to?"

"Well, it doesn't hurt to ask." She sniffed, straightening up and bustling to the back of the booth, moving some of the crates aside to unearth the box of pies she brought to hand out to her favorites. "Conner's going to be getting his farm license soon enough and the last thing we need is for him to break down Lord knows where."

"I'll get him sorted, don't you fret," Jason replied, slipping into the closest approximation of a drawl he could manage. He wasn’t a fan of Conner Kent. The boy was loud, hot tempered, and the sort of morally superior that was just screaming for a beat down. He wouldn’t tell Ma that, though. He’d settle that score, but only when the boy came looking. They always came looking. They walked into the ring expecting Smallville, they tapped out to Gotham. He'd worked diligently to rid himself of the particular accent. He'd been coached and took to the dramatics with a natural flair, settling into a muddled Midwestern drawl like he'd been born to it instead of the back streets and crime riddled alleys.

Jason had gotten really good at adroitly steering the conversation away from his past. _"Where're you from?" "Around." "You're not from around here." "Am now."_

To him it felt like an eternal fugue state, the kind he'd learned about from the local AM station that played classical music on Sunday mornings. The kind where the violin sang into nothing, answered back by a similar melody, and finally they sang together, mocked and taunted by the third until they blended seamlessly into something that sounded just not quite right, off kilter and intriguing. He took the pie, feeling the weight of it and cocking his head slightly, ducking to sniff it curiously. Ma Kent put her fists on her hips, daring him with an eyebrow. "Two guesses."

"Blueberry."

"Close, but no cigar."

Jason's brows furrowed, taking another whiff. "It's not cherry, you don't do metaphors like that. You blend something special?"

"Oh you, that isn't a guess and I won't fall for your simple charms. I like my men solid and reliable." She wiggled just slightly, though. "Go on, now."

"I have no idea."

"Gooseberry." She nodded once in punctuation, perfectly pleased. "Blue ribbon. Nothing but the best for my boys."

"Alfred would've liked you."

"That your friend back from..." She trailed off, ever hopeful that he'd slip up. It was an old dance they moved to.

"He was the head server and he took care of me." Jason nodded. "Thanks again, Ma." He cleared his throat, hefting the plate and dimpling at her.

"Don't you be a stranger. I'll get some of that ointment for your knuckles. You keep up that mischief and you're not going to be able to hold a wrench by the time you're fifty, darlin'."

"Live fast, die young, leave a damn pretty corpse."

"Don't you even joke on that, Jason Todd." She frowned deeply at him, smacking him on the arm and shooing him off. "Gonna get you hitched so you can give me some pretty rowdy grandbabies."

Jason swooned, slapping a hand over his heart and tossed her a soppy eyed look. "Breakin' my heart, Ma."

"Oh go on, you." Ma blushed slightly, nose wrinkling as she turned to the next customer who walked up. She greeted everyone with that same simple honesty. Jason wandered the market. He didn't tell anyone, but he kept his shop to the outskirts of town, kept his flirting a loose fitting 

Jason was running. He just wasn't sure when he'd get to stop.


End file.
